Attack! Royal Capital Defence !
by Gabriel Syme
Summary: I was thinking of this idea for awhile, and here it is: the British Imperial Capital Defence. Although I am mainly following the original series, I have some refernces to the Paris team as well. It's a bit different, so, take a look at it.
1. Title Chapter

Disclaimer: Sakura Taisen doesn't belong to me (actually, the only thing about the series that I really liked were the steam punk robots. Anyway, the lyrics for the English version of the theme song is courtesy of the translators at AXN Asia: it gave me an ideas as to how the song may sound like in English)

~

"His majesty, King George V, has expressed interests into the succeses of the Japanese and French Army in developing an answer to the demon menace. As such, thorugh a unanimous agreement by the English Parliament, we have thus agreed that, alongside the French Capital Defence, and the Japanese Imperial Capital Defence, the British Empire will set up it's own division of warriors, manning the Spiritual Armoured Battle Automaton known to the Japanese as the 'kohbu', and use it in battle, against the demons. So far, although the French and Japanses teams have had women in their divisions, the British Chapter will sport an all-male crew, though the reasons behind this are yet to be specified. The name of the central crew, the main fighting force of the Royal Capital Defence, will be the Royal Rose Assault Troupe. 

The rose is to be used to identify the British division, as a red rose represents blood, and brotherhood, while a white rose represents purity of heart and grace. The thorns show the pain and suffering one may endure, but the end result, the rose, what we all strive for, shows that it is a goal worth working for, if we keep at it. 

As studies have shown that the mere act of acting has increased the spiritual well-being of fighters manning the battleoids, the men of this acting troupe will be stating shows, both as part of their guise, and as a means of improving their battle vigour, and keeping them rigorous.

As such, may the Royal Assault Troupe do the British Empire proud !

God Save the Royal Capital Defence !"

~

Attack ! Imperial Capital Defence ! (English Version)

(to the tune of "Geki ! Teikoku Kagekidan !" By the way: yes, it can be sung in English. You just have to practise a bit before you get the tune and rythmn right.)

The torn darkness howls, with every brake,

The capital trembles at it's wake,

Out of the darkness come the heroes,

Singing a song of hope and justice,

Warriors of spirit, armed with steel,

They also fight with their hearts,

They will rout out the evil, 

to prove that there is Justice

(chorus)

Run at the speed of light, Imperial Capital Defence !  


Feel the roar of the impact, of the Imperial Capital Defence !

(repeat chorus)

Run at the speed of light, Imperial Capital Defence !  


Feel the roar of the impact, of the Imperial Capital Defence !

(note: the version used here is to the theme of the original TV series, where the first verse was sung, followed by the chorus, twice)

~


	2. The Foundation is Laid

(Note: the following is adapted from a battle that took place during the Boer war. If I had made any historical mistakes, do notify me….. I'd change them)

~

"When I die in war, you will remember me; when I live peace, you won't."

-Alfred Lord Tennyson

~

Ladysmith, at the Natal Border, South Afrika

30th October 1899

~

When one beholds the desert, one would expect silence, loneliness, and solitude, amidst the vast wasteland that is the desert.

However, on this day, there was no silence.

"UP AN AT 'EM LADS !"

The Army Sergeant boomed, in a strong, dignified accent that typified his nationality.

Around him, large rumblings were heard, and craters were being made, out off falling shells that appeared, the result of years of study into the physical science of projectile motion. At the same times, gunshots were fired, exchanged from long, single shot rifles, that were arrayed with a long, pointed blade, suited for close combat.

Volleys of gunfire were heard, one volley at a time, each from both sides: the besieged, and the attackers.

The besieged, however, had their own artillery, and a very special weapon: it was a rifle, a mechanized rifle, that could fire one cartridge of bullets continuously, each cartridge consisting of 20 to 30 bullets. It was a formidable weapon, esp. against the older, single shot rifles.

Nonetheless, no matter the weapon, the final sounds of the casualty would always remain the same.

"Arrgh !"

"Aaaoooww !"

"Nooo…."

As the defeated fell, those that remained standing, and fit, continued, relentless in their battle.

"LET 'EM HAVE IT LADS !"

The English Captain cried out, wielding both a pistol and a cavalier sword, standard issue of all officers in the British Imperial Army. 

His sword was a rather elegant sword. Purportedly coming from the smith of some native in India, it was deft, sharp, light, and easy on the handle. It could make quick, slashing movements, and was suited for close combat. A weapon of the noble, it bore a lion's head on it's brunt, an emblem to the glory and honour that encompassed the British Empire.

His pistol, however, was a simple pistol. Nothing extraordinary about this pistol, as it was standard issue for all combatants in the Army, at home or abroad, in peace times or war. It was a last resort weapon, and usually the weakest. It could not compare to the might of a common rifle, let alone a machined rifle, and was used only in the most desperate of situations. In fact, only officers used the weapon regularly, but mainly because they themselves had little to do most of the time, except lead, and not fight in the battle itself. The same for war journalists and medics, who are only asked to take photographs and heal the wounded, and not even comprehend the notion of fighting.

It was at this moment that ideas started pouring into the poor Captain's head. The vagrancies of politics, no, life itself thought he. 

Just a short while ago, before all this, he was lamenting over another fact. It was back on the mainland, when, at the most unfortunate of circumstances, a door was slammed right in front of his face, and was the sole answer to a relationship that had lasted for some time. After that, he had to return to the army, over some business in Afrika that involved, of all things, farmers.

But these weren't ordinary farmers. They were Dutch farmers, Boers, who refused to give up their land to the Empire, and would, in defiance, continue to defend the land that was rightfully theirs. However, like a lioness that is hungry for weeks, and as been angered by a past dispute, the Empire would have none of this.

Te matter did seem trivial, and, so far, it was a waste of life, young British life. The citizens were already complaining of the lost of lives at home. Though it was a gentlemanly virtue for one to fight in war, and an honour to die in one, there was a lot more one could do in Life. Fighting should never be everything.

However, the problem with deep thinking is that, it should be reserved for certain situations.

~

"Good Lord !"

"The Captain's been hit !"

"Barnes ! Get your bloody arse over there, and patch the poor man up ! Everybody else! Keep firing ! We are not to lose this post to those bastards !"

The Captain, still dazed after experience, could only remember the gunshots all around him.

Bang…ratataatta……boom……..

Screams of death echoed all around him…. And it was at this moment when other memories started pouring him..

Off his times in the academy… of his love…. Of the battles he fought…. Of the virtues he learnt…. Of himself….nosce te ipsum…..

~

It is yet to be known who first sighted the thing. The British claim that a young lad, possibly of 18, while loading a Long Tom, first sighted the thing, dropped his shell, and ran, his pants wet out of fear.

A Dutch perspective thought otherwise, remembering that some old soldier, his old dusty hand flying in the wind, was firing away with his old shotgun, when, keeping an eye on his small but relatively vital piece of property, noticed that I flew, all the way, to some other area in the desert. As the hat touched the ground, it was trampled over by the thing, and the farmer, dropped his shotgun on sight, and ran off, desperate to obtain a better weapon.

Whoever was first to sight the beast, nonetheless, the following reactions were similar.

"MY GOD !"

"GOOD LORD !"

"IT'S THE BEAST ! IT HAS COME ! IT HAD BEEN PROPHESIZED ! JUDGEMENT IS AT HAND !"

And indeed, it was.

The thing could not be described in mere human words. To begin w ith, the grotesque thing was powered, partly, by steam technology, with steam issuing from the portholes on the back of the thing.

Half mechanical, half organic, it's organic side was oozing with bile, and was odious in all manners. It had no face, though it had arms and hands. It was shaped like a human, but it wasn't human, or at least, was no longer human. Even so, the very size of the thing gave hint that it may have never been a human before.

It was clutching, in one hand, a peculiarly large object, shaped like a…

"CANNON !"

"GOOD LORD ! THAT THINGS HAS A BLOOD TURRET AS A PISTOL !"

The thing made it's way slowly to the ground. It was only about 4 metres tall. However, the weapon it carried, was enough to scare the wits out of the poor men.

"FIRE AT THAT THING !"

"UITLANDERS ! SHOW THE BEAST WHAT WE HAVE !"

Both sides shifted their artillery away, their points, once facing each other, now had a common target. For a short while, British and Boer were allies against a common, unknown foe.

However, this unknown foe, was a lot more indomitable than imagined.

It practically shrugged off the artillery shells, and, in retaliation, fired a few rounds from it's "gun".

~

The battle seemed doomed on both sides. For now, politics, British interest in South Afrika, virtues like nobility and glory, hardly mattered for both men, as many sought to retreat, while the more valiant fired, though in vain.

Lying on the ground, immune to the ongoing effects, was the Captain. He had been left, for dead, in the light of the events, and a bullet still lay, buried, somewhere in his chest.

However, the stinging effect of the bullet did not desist the captain. Mustering all the strength he could, he reached out for the sword in his sheath. In one striking movement, he revealed to himself that he had lost one of his most treasured valuables.

All that he had left was his pistol. No. Two pistols.

In a rather drunken manor, he groped around his pants for the other leather satchel. As he felt the coarseness of the aged leather, he pulled out his second pistol.

"Few bullets left… must… fight…"

As he walked forward, the might beast looked down, and aimed it's weapon, targeting the very heart of the man.

Despite this, the English captain, with his light moustache flaring, and both weapons ready, aimed his dual firearms a the thing.

The first shot startled the beast. The second hit what the captain thought to be its head.

As the thing dropped it's gun, the captain started to fire all the bullets in both pistols.

The steam powered monster, stunned at first, was now defeated, and dying.

The captain, now just a few inches within the reach of the beast, kicked it's leg.

The might hulk came crashing down, onto the coarse sand, and became nothing more than bile, and assorted metallic junk.

The captain, feeling triumphant, gave a slight smile, before he fell, half-dead from the experience.

~

27 years later…….

London, Capital of the British Empire, England

~

Sitting contently, in a quaint little cafeteria, was a man, still in the prime of his life.

He was middle aged, and old. He wore a bowler hat, and had deep, grey eyes. His ears were round, and well tuned, his eyesight still good even after years of extensive reading. His face was somewhat plagued with wrinkles, and a light moustache was visible. He had brown hair, almost blonde, and wore a long tailed suit, with decorations and medals adoring his left breast pocket .

He was awaiting the arrival of a friend, as he slowly tipped his Earl Grey Tea. He took a good look around, and pondered over the beauty of the city. Poets had long written of this fine city, one poet, about a hundred years before his time, once compared it with something so non-urban as Nature. Indeed, in it's own way, London was beautiful.

Any city in the world was beautiful, provided it was looked at in a positive manner.

As he continued to think, he received a friendly tap on his shoulder.

"Yoneda !"

"Richard ! Good show ! Fancy meeting you here !"

"What took you so bloody long ?!"

"I was caught up. You know, having to deal with my girls…"

"You and your girls…"

Both men gave hearty laughs, causing much attention.

"Anyway, old friend, considering the British Assault Troupe…"

"Aaahh.. Yes ! The Rose Team ! I believed were to discuss about that…"

"I still do not understand you Richard. Why do you wish to fight in the Spiritual Armour ?"

"Yoneda, you did not fight in that armour because you were an old man. However, I am still young, and I feel that, if I have the capacity to operate such machinery, then, I should operate it."

"Then, there's the business of men being in the team…"

"I know. It's a mystery: why is it that women in America, France and Japan have been seen to pilot the Armour, while, so far, it is only here than men can operate it…"

"A good question, and one we may never answer."

Commander Yoneda, manager of the Japanese Imperial Assault Troupe, was speaking in fluent English, thanks to years of studying the language at home.

"Nonetheless…. Who shall make up the team ?"

"I believe that, so far, we have gained information on a certain individuals that have managed to meet the standards and passed the spiritual tests. So far, there's me, a Scotsman, an Italian, a German, a Welshman, and lastly, an Indian."

"I am thinking of lending you one of my girls, to aid you in the start of your new team. I mean, the very manager of the troupe is fighting alongside his men, and that…"

"Should be a case for concern, hmm ? You fought in the Russo-Japanese war, Yoneda, I fought in the Boer war, and a few other wars. A leader should always fight with his men, and not just lead."

'Have it you way then.

Nonetheless, I suppose we can come to an agreement."

And so, on that very day, the Royal Assault Troupe was founded.

"Hai."

~


End file.
